


Duty Be Damned

by Meraad



Series: Sorrows and Delights - Blackwall/Cadash [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, pure trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 01:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15920001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Some angst after the fall of Haven as Rija settles into her new title of Inquisitor.





	Duty Be Damned

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fluff and smut.

Rija Cadash had been avoiding Blackwall since she had woken after they’d pulled her from the snow not far from what remained of Haven. He’d given her a night of what was likely the best sex she would ever know, and she’d returned the favor by crying like a baby in his arms and begging him not to leave. She had been mortified the next morning and dressing had been a silent awkward thing. He’d been there when she closed the breach, and later, she had watched him, sitting quietly on a log near the fire, a part, but separate from the festivities.

Then the mages had attacked and she’d faced down Corypheus. The dream she’d had while walking a tightrope between life and death had been so real. Her aunt trying to hack her face off, her father waiting for her, and then Blackwall yelling at her. The most vivid part had been Blackwall sitting beside her, holding her hand and kissing her. But when she’d woken, it was Mother Giselle at her side, and she was fairly certain the woman hadn’t kissed her.

In her defense though, she had been busy. Once she and the others were well enough to travel they journeyed to Skyhold, which ended up being a whole other load of problems to deal with as they made it livable. Then she had to go out, once again, to deal with rifts and demons and Venatori. 

It had been weeks now and she was grumpy. There was no getting around it. She wanted to eat an entire loaf of bread without being disturbed and she wanted sex. Lots and lots of sex. The kind of sex that made her eyes cross and her back arch like her bow. The kind of sex that Blackwall was really good at. Instead, she was going to go and attempt to scrub the gore from her skin and clothes.

The rift had been over what once had been a lake, but all that remained was a thick mud that she’d had to wade into so she could get close enough to close it. Dorian had tried out a new spell, which made the demon next to her explode into millions of pieces, all over her. Rija ached and itched and at that moment she hated everyone. Grabbing her pack and the full bottle of whiskey she stomped away from the camp and down to the river. 

Rija dropped her bag beside the bank and looked down at herself, contemplating. Try to strip out of the blood and mud caked clothes, or dive in with them on and peel herself out of the soaking wet leathers? With a grunt she started tugging, digging through the mud for the buckles and ties. Frustration won out and she let out a yell, grabbed for her dagger to just cut the Stone cursed things off, but the dagger was just as bad off as her clothes.

“Fuck you, you fucking nug fucker,” she muttered, then slumped down beside her leather bag. She opened it, dug around for the soap and clean clothes, but there were none. She found her soap. She found a clean pair of smalls. But no fresh tunic, not even a tunic she’d worn ten times over. Nothing. “Are you fucking kidding me?” her voice cracked and angry tears began to stream down her cheeks. Rija’s fingers curled around the neck of the whiskey bottle, she yanked the cork out with her teeth, dropped it into her free hand and then took a long pull from the bottle.

It burned like hellfire and the tears continued streaming from her eyes. The mud was hardening, and every moment she sat in her filthy clothes she grew more irritable, but the energy she’d need to put forth to get out of her clothes and into the water was more than she had. She took another long drink from the bottle, wished she’d thought to grab her pipe. “I could just turn myself into a statue right here with all this mud.”

Rija wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, alternating between sips and long gulps. The tears had stopped, but she was still miserable and dreading the inevitable bath and her naked return back to camp. Another swig and she pushed up to her feet. She had to just get it over it. Get clean and then she could crawl into her tent and fantasize about Blackwall screwing her senseless. 

“My lady,” she glanced over her shoulder and there he stood. Definitely not a fantasy. Fantasy Blackwall only ever called her Rija. 

“What?” she grumbled, bending down to tug at the laces of her boots. Rija muttered curses under her breath as she tried to unlace them and realized she might have been a little drunker than she had previously thought. He didn’t say anything and she sat down hard to try and undo the laces.

One night. That was all he’d agreed to. She couldn’t be angry with him for not wanting her. She’d been with men, who spoke pretty words, offered promises, and she’d known they were all lies. At least he had been honest. Rija tugged at one of the laces and let out a stream of curses as it turned into a knot. How could she be the Inquisitor when she couldn’t even manage to untie her own shoes?

Grabbing the bottle again she looked up, startled when a hand covered hers. Blackwall had moved up to kneel beside her and his gaze narrowed. “Let go,” she ground out between her teeth that she found herself gritting.

“Rija.”

Her grip loosened in surprise and he tugged the bottle away and shoved the cork back into it. “Hey! I was drinking that!” 

“I think you’ve had quite enough.” He reached out, his deft fingers making quick work of the knots she’d tied in her muddy boots. 

Rija’s lip curled in frustration. “You’re not my father, don’t treat me like a child.” She yanked off her boots, threw one at him, that he caught easily before she stood up and headed for the water.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t put you over my knee and beat your ass red.” 

She whirled around but unbalanced from the alcohol she immediately splashed into the water. It was cold and shocked some sense into her system. 

 

The words were out before Blackwall could stop them. Rija seemed just as surprised, landing in the shallows of the river, staring up at him, eyes wide. Her cheeks were pink and he wondered if it was rage, embarrassment or the alcohol. She blinked and turned her face away. “Just… go away,” she muttered, getting back up and wading in farther, fully clothed.

He frowned as he watched her. She’d been remote in the weeks since Haven and Blackwall couldn’t deny his worry for her. He watched her wade out until the water was waist deep before she started tugging at her filthy clothes. Rija tossed them back to the shore, actively ignoring his presence. The night they had spent together she had told him she didn’t regret it. But it was obvious she did. 

“As my lady wishes,” Blackwall said. 

“Wait!” she said when he turned to go. “I...” he saw her clench her jaw and her entire body was stiff. “I don’t have any clean clothes.” 

Glancing down at her leather satchel, he noticed it was empty, save for a pair of smalls. He jerked his head in a sharp nod and headed back to the camp. Blackwall didn’t feel right going through her tent and her belongings, so he found the cleanest of one of his own tunics before heading back to the river. He’d taken his time, wanting to give her the privacy to finish bathing, and when he stepped back into the clearing she was on a large rock that jutted out over the water, her toes barely skimming it as she lay sprawled on her back, that damn bottle of whiskey in her hand again. 

She turned her head and looked at him as he tried to avert his gaze as he walked toward her. “You’ve seen everything already,” she said, her voice taking on a lazy tone. “You didn’t happen to bring my pipe, did you?”

“No,” he said, giving up on propriety and scowling down at her. “How drunk are you right now?”

“Not nearly drunk enough,” she said with a sigh, dragging her arm up to cover her eyes. 

Blackwall dropped the tunic on her chest before swooping down to grab the bottle of whiskey. He threw it into the river and Rija let out a little sigh. “What a waste.” Sitting up, she tugged the tunic over her head.

“I think you had plenty. You are the Inquisitor, you have a duty-”

“I never asked for this!” she shouted, getting to her feet. Not even remotely imposing as she barely reached mid-chest on him. “I don’t want it! I’m not noble, or good!” Rija closed her eyes and sagged. “You’re right, though. Like it or not, I am the Inquisitor.” She stepped past him and made her way to where her pack still lay, sodden, muddy clothes in a pile beside it.

“Rija-”

“Don’t,” she waved her hand. “You don’t have to call me that. I’m sor-” she swallowed hard. “I never should have insisted. I will return your shirt as soon as I get back to camp.” Crouching down, she made quick work of stuffing the clothes into her satchel.

“Rija,” his voice was softer and it only made her angrier.

“Don’t!” she didn’t deserve any kindness. Blackwall was right. She was the Inquisitor, it was time she started acting like it. What was she supposed to do if she couldn’t do one thing right in her life? Corypheus would destroy the world and it would be all her fault. 

Like everything else.


End file.
